


deep scars of thunder

by bazzaya



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crimson Flower, F/F, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Regret, just sad, not very romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazzaya/pseuds/bazzaya
Summary: No matter how drastic the measures, this is the shortest path to change.But that line of thinking can only get her so far, as the consequences of her actions suddenly catch up to her.





	deep scars of thunder

**Author's Note:**

> this was based off a line in my past fic (stolen time) where edelgard says she'll trust lysithea unless lysithea is the one to aim a sword at her throat
> 
> sorry it's so sad! and sorry it's not heavily romantic but this is a scenario i Really wanted to see

No matter how drastic the measures, this is the shortest path to change. That's what Lysithea keeps telling herself.

Even while in the final battle, surrounded by the wicked flames of Fhirdiad, does she need to repeat that mantra. When the fire brews at her feet, scorching at her skin, drawing sweat from her brow, she keeps reminding herself that this is necessary.

Even when she hears the all-too-familiar voice of Rhea’s servant, Cyril, shriek in pain in his final moments. Even when seeing Gilbert being struck down. Even when she hears the roars of the Immaculate One ringing louder than any other sounds of war.

And now, when she sees the silhouette of the jagged sword relic beyond the flames approaching her, her mind is practically screaming the mantra at her, forcing her to stand her ground.

A yellow aura ignites around Lysithea’s hands, preparing her for battle as the figure steps through the flames, revealing herself.

“You've grown over the years, Lysithea. I barely even recognize you.”

“And you haven't changed, Catherine,” Lysithea returns, the muscles in her hands tensing.

“I never thought I'd have to turn my blade against someone who shared my own blood,” yet Catherine slides into a stance, tightly gripping her sword. “But that won't stop me.”

The magic at Lysithea’s fingertips brightens, and she takes aim, one hand trained towards Catherine with the other extended behind her. “You should know by now that any blood that bound us was never real.”

Catherine’s eyes narrow and she grits her teeth. “Then you’re just another one of Lady Rhea’s enemies that I'll have to cut down. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Lysithea lets out a breath to steel herself, though she can feel her heartbeat pound in her ears. She's taken down countless foes in the name of Edelgard’s cause, but never has it filled her with as much dread as now. She forces her words to sound detached, unaffected, though she hates the circumstances thrust upon her. The magic enveloping her hands grows stronger, mostly as means of seeming unwavering in the face of her enemy, but her mind is screaming that mantra in her head.

No matter how drastic the measures, this is the shortest path to change.

Even if it means facing an old mentor.

Even if it means facing an old friend.

Even if it means facing someone who Lysithea dared to once call her ‘big sister.’

Catherine races towards Lysithea at an incredible speed, and the decision must be split-second.

Lysithea doesn't hesitate.

* * *

After a tense back and forth of attacks, parried blows, and narrowly-avoided brushes with death, the battle meets its end. The sheer power of the spell Lysithea casts extinguishes the flames in the area surrounding them due to the ripple of air following the explosion. A tense moment passes, where Lysithea stands still, unmoving, expecting for Catherine to emerge from the dust lingering in the air following the spell. Yet that counterattack never comes, and when the smoke dissipates, Lysithea sees Catherine laying on the ground, Thunderbrand out of her grasp, her hands limp.

The sight makes Lysithea’s mouth run dry, and she clenches her fists at her sides, just as tense as before. An ugly feeling settles in the pit of her stomach, making her feel nauseous, yet Lysithea brushes it off with all of her might, reminding herself of the reality of the situation.

No matter how drastic the measures, this is the shortest path to change.

She walks forward, not yet at the destination her orders dictate. This is merely one notch in her mission. There is still much left to be done— with her target being the center of the city so that she can rendezvous with everyone against the Immaculate One. She can't stop here. Her orders forbid it. She has to keep moving.

Yet she stops.

“Lysi…thea…” a voice weakly calls out for her.

She knows it too well as Catherine’s, yet the weakness to her voice sounds so unbelievably foreign to her ears.

“Wait… Come here…”

Lysithea’s eyes flit over towards Thunderbrand. It's fairly far out of reach, yet she wonders if Catherine can seize it in the amount of time it takes Lysithea to walk over. She wonders if it's a trap. She hesitates.

“You've won,” Catherine says, sensing Lysithea’s hesitation. “It’s over… for me… Please… come closer…”

Lysithea finally relents, and she makes her way to Catherine’s side, kneeling beside her body. Up close, she can see the wounds in her body, the spots where the spikes of her magic impales her— the wounds that _ she _inflicted on her.

Yet Catherine uses the last of her strength to smile at her. At her killer.

“You've grown so strong, sis…”

The words make Lysithea’s throat seize up and burn. “Don't…” she protests, her voice hoarse. “Don't do this.”

“I’m sorry… that I raised my sword to you,” Catherine coughs out. “I’m sorry… I wasn't strong enough to leave Lady Rhea’s side like you… You’re so much stronger than me, Lysithea… It's an honor to be relieved of this life… by a warrior of your strength, and your bravery…”

“Please, I’m begging you to _ stop— _” Lysithea pleads, feeling her words quiver.

“Sorry, sis…” Catherine laughs. “I got to go against you one last time… Please… bring Thunderbrand to me…”

Lysithea blinks at the request, her expression looking incredulous. Catherine just lets out another laugh.

“I may have been your enemy… but I have not lost my honor as a knight. I lost… I merely ask… that you respect these last wishes of mine,” Catherine says.

With a soft breath, Lysithea gives in and retrieves the Hero’s Relic, returning to Catherine’s side and presenting her with the sword.

Using the bit of strength she still clings to, Catherine grabs the hilt of the sword and inspects the blade, her smile turning remorseful. “I was too weak of heart to wield this well… I have turned the relic of my ancestors against those I called my friends… and even those who I considered family. In my dying breaths, I am hardly worthy to hold this blade…”

Lysithea shakes her head as Catherine speaks so deprecatingly of herself. “This doesn’t have to be the end— let me heal you, and you can surrender! You won't have to die— please!”

“No, Lysithea… I set the city on fire and brought death and agony to the innocent civilians here, just because of my devotion to Lady Rhea… and even now, I cannot bring myself to go against her… Death is the only end that I will accept,” Catherine says. She coughs, and she holds the blade closer to Lysithea. “Take the hilt.”

“Catherine, I can’t—”

“Take it…!” Catherine coughs again from the force of her voice, exhausting too much of what little energy she still has afforded to her.

Seeing the pain Catherine’s in, Lysithea slowly wraps her hand on the handle of the sword, right above Catherine’s.

Catherine soon adjusts her grip, her hand enveloping both the hilt and Lysithea’s own. “You fight to change this world for the better, isn't that right? For a world without the Crests that brought you so much misery?”

Lysithea nods her head slowly, feeling her eyes sting with tears. She can't bring herself to speak, not with how raw her throat feels.

Catherine smiles. “Then you are a hero worthy enough of the relic of House Charon. Use Thunderbrand to cut the path toward that better future… I can only trust this to you, Lysithea… Even if the blood that connects us isn't real, you still wield the Crest of Charon, and you still are my little sister…”

Lysithea lowers her head, losing herself to those tears that clung to her eyes. She still holds onto the sword just barely in her grasp, even when Catherine’s hand slips off hers. That hand soon finds its way on Lysithea’s cheek, and Lysithea looks at Catherine with widened, surprised eyes.

Catherine still smiles at her, and her thumb weakly wipes away the tears on Lysithea’s cheek, yet she smears blood across her skin in doing so. “Your fight isn't over yet, Lysithea… Save them until it's all over. You have to keep going… to make that better future…”

Catherine’s words grow weaker, each movement of her lips demanding more and more energy of her that she simply cannot provide. Lysithea’s feelings catch in her throat, and she tries so hard to keep the tears down to appease Catherine’s wishes, but she still grits her teeth in anguish and squeezes her eyes shut, pained beyond words.

“Lysithea…?” Catherine asks.

Lysithea opens her eyes slowly. “Yes…?”

“Show me a smile one last time before I go… I think I'd rather like that, Lys…” Catherine flashes a weak smile.

A request like that seems impossible— how could she smile when her sister is in her arms dying because of what _ she _did? How can she smile when she's still red in the face from crying? How can she smile in the middle of a war? In the middle of battle?

But Catherine’s last request is so much more important than that. Using every ounce of her strength, Lysithea somehow brings a smile to her face, as uncertain and faint as it is.

Catherine smiles too, a relief washing over her as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back onto the ground. “Knowing I'm leaving everything to someone with a smile like that… that's… that's not half bad…”

Catherine’s breaths run shallow and cease after uttering that faint whisper, and no matter how badly Lysithea wants to latch onto her and sob, scream out her emotions, curse the circumstances that made her raise her hand against someone who she was so close with— she buries those emotions. She can't cry now. She has to wait until it's all over.

The flames that dispersed from Lysithea’s attacks slowly grow back over the area, and soon they nearly reach where Lysithea kneels beside the body. She can't leave Catherine here to be reduced to ash… She deserves a proper burial and send-off. It hurts Lysithea too much to imagine her body being burned and destroyed in the fire, without honor and without respect. She sets her hand on Catherine’s shoulder and casts a Warp spell to send her out of the reach of the flames— somewhere safe, somewhere hidden, somewhere where Lysithea can retrieve her once everything is said and done, and then she can bury her properly.

All that remains to show that there had been a battle in this sector in Fhirdiad is the blood on Lysithea’s clothes from the body, and Thunderbrand laying on the ground.

Swallowing down the bile and emotions in her throat, Lysithea grabs the hilt of Thunderbrand, rising to her feet again. She can hear approaching footsteps, the clank of armor with every movement, but a voice calls out to her to let her know it's not an adversary approaching.

“Hey— Lysithea!” It's Caspar’s voice, Lysithea notes. She can hear him coming closer before coming to a stop right by her. “What are you standing around for? We need to meet up with everyone else by the dragon!”

Lysithea turns her head to face Caspar, the blood smeared across her cheeks and Thunderbrand in her grasp speaking volumes as to what transpired without her having to so much as utter a word.

Caspar sees the relic in Lysithea’s hands, and his demanding persistence suddenly fades once the realization dawns on him. He stares at Lysithea, his mouth agape in surprise, but he shuts his jaw and shakes his head, doing his best to sound supportive. “…I… It's okay. The battle’s almost won. They can handle things for a bit. A few more minutes without us shouldn't hurt..” he says, trying to console her, to give her some time to process all that's happened.

Yet Lysithea shakes her head. “No. Not now. We need to go,” and her voice doesn't tremble; instead, she's resolute and more determined than ever to see this to a close.

Confusion flashes on Caspar’s expression for a moment before he nods. “Right! I'm not missing out on my chance to beat this dragon’s ass!” he says, and he starts forward again on the path to the Immaculate One.

Lysithea lets out a breath and tightens her grip on Thunderbrand, steeling herself for the fight ahead. A red aura emanates from the sword, and she tightens her jaw at the sight of it.

Without another moment of hesitation, Lysithea follows Caspar back into the fight.

* * *

Lysithea doesn't cry after the end of the war. She doesn't give in to that sadness. Not even when she has to arrange the burial proceedings for Catherine, given how she's fallen from House Charon’s favor, and how her House doesn't wish for her return. Not even when she has to watch the proceedings for everyone else who's passed.

Old schoolmates. Old schoolmates who were friend and foe alike. Old schoolmates who were foes and met their end at Lysithea’s hand.

It's only when the war’s over does it register for Lysithea everything that she's done in the name of the battle she's fought. She's taken so many lives, some of those she knew, for the sake of her goal— a goal to make a world where people didn't need to be victimized by a society usurped by the tyranny of Crests.

She’s committed so many atrocities for this goal, and she's numbed herself to it so that she could keep pushing herself towards her endgame without regret. But now that her aspirations are within reach, she can look back on the path that led her here.

She's told herself time and time again, that no matter how drastic the measures, this was the shortest path to change. This was the justification she gave herself to wage this war. A war where people didn't have to be like her again.

But so much reflection warps her whole perception of her own actions.

At some point throughout those five years at war, she thinks that her endeavors to change the system that ruined Fódlan turned into her seeking revenge for herself and all the pain that the system caused her— that her fight began as a way to make a world where people didn't need to be victimized by a society usurped by the tyranny of Crests. But ultimately, it became a fight so that people didn't need to be victimized _ like she was. _

Was that not the reason why she could do whatever it took to win, no matter the cost? So people didn't need to be like _ her_? She strove to take down the system that ruined _ her _ life, and then the benefit for others must have become a positive side effect.

How else could she have done all of those terrible things if not for revenge?

These thoughts wrack Lysithea’s mind constantly following the end of the war, the ghosts of the lives she's taken haunting her with every passing day.

She was just supposed to go to the Officers Academy to learn enough so she could reform her territory and cede it to a local lord to live the rest of her shortened life in peace with her parents— she was never supposed to fight in a war. She was never supposed to go against her nation and join the Empire, either.

When did Lysithea stop recognizing herself…?

From the age of fifteen and onward, she had been taking lives for a goal. Freshly sixteen, and she joined the tactical force of elites, the Black Eagle Strike Force in a war that waged on for five years, fighting for another goal.

All of her formative years have been lost to war— have been lost to murder, and killing.

Now twenty-one, she looks back on everything she's done in utter disgust. How had she been so corrupted and darkened by these atrocities at such a young age…?

All of these emotions— the regret, the sadness, the fear— they don't cumulate into sadness or tears. Instead they just manifest into an anger and a hatred directed at herself.

Lysithea can't even bring herself to clean Catherine’s blood off of Thunderbrand. The sword itself is a reminder of what she's done in the name of her ‘higher cause,’ and the blood is the reminder of how she's had to do it. It's her punishment, to be constantly reminded of what she's done. Someone like her deserves this torment in recompense.

This shift in Lysithea’s behavior is far too noticeable for the others. She doesn't sleep from the nightmares. Her expression is constantly bitter and full of rage. She doesn't speak to others either, and she isolates herself.

Yet she doesn't seem to notice the others picking up these changes in her, hence her confusion at receiving a summons to meet with Edelgard later that night, puzzled.

Lysithea still abides by the summons, arriving at Edelgard’s personal chambers at the requested time.

When Edelgard opens the door, she can immediately tell something’s off with Lysithea—

She still wears her wartime armor, still stained red with blood, like she's never left the battlefield.

“It's just me, Lysithea,” Edelgard says tiredly. “This visit wasn't meant to come with a mission assignment.”

Lysithea just grips the hilt of her sword tighter, ignoring those words. “You wanted to see me?”

Edelgard nods her head and opens the door a little wider, allowing Lysithea to come in. “That's right. I wanted to check up on you.”

“The war’s over,” Lysithea says, turning to face Edelgard once she's inside. “What's there to check up on?”

Edelgard lets out a sigh. “It's not difficult to see how hard you've been taking things lately. You look constantly on edge—” she steps closer, grabbing the metallic shoulder-guard that Lysithea wears. “And look, you haven't even cleaned your armor of all that dried blood. This isn't like you. I know something’s on your mind.”

Lysithea jerks her shoulder away from Edelgard’s touch, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve been busy. I haven't had the time to worry about that yet.”

“With what, pray tell?” Edelgard asks bluntly. “No one’s been able to see much of you around since we returned from Fhirdiad. Perhaps if you share what's been taking up all of your time, we can find a way to resolve it more quickly so you can get to your other priorities.”

“I’ve been…thinking,” Lysithea says evasively, averting her gaze. “That's all.”

“Then share what's on your mind. There must be something that can be done to ease the burden that's so obviously weighing down on you,” Edelgard says, a tired request to get Lysithea to open up.

“I don't want your help,” Lysithea mutters.

Edelgard clenches her jaw, biting down how such a remark stings. “If you won’t reach out to me, then I at least implore you to seek out Dorothea or Mercedes. Having someone to listen helps, and you should at least attempt—”

“I know that, Edelgard,” Lysithea cuts her off, her eyes narrowed into a glare. “I don't want your help because _ you're _the problem.”

Edelgard lowers and shakes her head, though she soon lifts it again to meet Lysithea’s gaze. “Being the root of the problem might actually make it easier for me to fix it. How can it be resolved?”

“I wouldn't be this way if not for you— _ you're _ the one who made me the way that I am,” Lysithea sneers. “You're the one who latched onto me as a _ child _ and turned me into this!”

Edelgard’s eyes narrow. “You are the one who chose to follow me. I never ‘latched’ onto you or forced you to do anything.”

“You just stood there and did nothing as I threw my whole childhood away to be _ your _ soldier! You watched me kill people in the name of your cause— You watched me kill people that I _ knew_!” Lysithea shouts, all those emotions she held inside bursting to the surface. That rage she feels towards herself, she redirects toward Edelgard. And in a fever pitch of that rage, Lysithea reaches for the hilt of Thunderbrand, tearing it from its sheath, raising it to Edelgard’s throat in one swift move. “And now the ghosts of everyone who's died haunt me— all because I did it for _ you_!”

Edelgard doesn't step back when facing Lysithea’s blade. Her eyebrows raise in surprise, and her jaw clenches, though she knows better than to move. All she does is lift her chin, standing her ground, knowing that any other movement will cause the tip of the blade on her neck to sink into her skin.

Never has she expected her most trusted officer to turn her blade back on her. Her lowered guard put her into this position.

When Edelgard looks back into Lysithea’s eyes, her own gaze hardened and defiant, she can see the Crest of Charon shining in Lysithea’s left eye, and Thunderbrand glows an ominous red. Yet Edelgard doesn't move. Part of her still trusts Lysithea, and she can tell by the way Lysithea’s eyes shine more than they normally should from a Crest that she truly doesn't wish to cut her down.

Tears well in Lysithea’s eyes, and she grits her teeth, her grip on the blade loosening, her arm trembling. “I… I killed her… She was the only person who I let be my big sister…”

Edelgard’s expression softens, and soon Thunderbrand drops and clatters on the floor, Lysithea sinking to her knees shortly after, losing herself to her sobs.

When it comes to grief, Edelgard always tells the person to hold high and to march on, but seeing Lysithea of all people finally crumbling after five long years makes her hold her tongue. Never has she seen Lysithea so distraught, the skin under her eyes darkened and purple from exhaustion, her hair frayed and unkempt, and her very armor still bearing the traces of battle. When Lysithea’s whole qualm is that she's held high and pushed herself through these horrors for too much of her life, parroting those words would do more harm than good.

So Edelgard kneels down beside Lysithea, gently pulling her into an embrace, one hand on her back and the other on her head. Lysithea immediately clings to the front of Edelgard’s clothes, overwhelmed with her own emotions and sobbing right into Edelgard’s shoulder. Edelgard merely stays silent, slowly running her hand down Lysithea’s hair.

“I killed too many people I knew—” Lysithea chokes out. “So many people who loved and _ trusted _ me, and I paid them back by taking their lives… I… I-I let myself become a monster…”

“Your remorse says the opposite,” Edelgard says quietly, though her voice retains that firmness from before. “A monster wouldn't care about the lives of those who died. That makes you different, Lysithea. That makes you human.”

“They were my _ friends_!” Lysithea shakes her head against Edelgard's shoulder, her grip on her clothes tightening. “Catherine.. she was my _ sister_…! And that still didn't stop me…!”

“You only did what the situation called for. You never relished in their deaths. You never prolonged their suffering,” Edelgard says. “You did what a soldier had to do. Never did you cross the line to become a ruthless, heartless killer.”

“Everything I did, I did for myself… For my own revenge for all that I've suffered…” Lysithea’s breaths turn shallow and quick, losing her composure even more than she already has. “I was so selfish…”

“That's not the Lysithea I know,” Edelgard’s hand lingers on the back of Lysithea’s head, a constant reassuring presence. “You were fighting to make the world better. It was never about revenge. You always put the needs and concerns of others before your own. Everyone else who's suffered because of the nobility and Crests, your parents, even me— you put before yourself. You were never selfish, Lysithea. That's your own guilt trying to deceive you and make you feel like someone you are not.”

“I can't take this, Edelgard—” Lysithea pleads, her voice utterly defeated. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, not when they still haunt me—”

“The war has ended. You need not even take the life of a fly after this if you do not wish to,” Edelgard says gently. “It's over. The possibilities have opened up to you now— in this new age, you can choose whether to be a soldier, a scholar, whatever it is you so desire. In this new age, you can choose for yourself who you want to be, instead of someone else dictating it for you.”

“I don't want to leave…” Lysithea says softly, her body too tired to continue crying.

“Then you don't have to,” Edelgard says. She adjusts her hold on Lysithea, wrapping her arms around her in a tight, reassuring hug. “You're strong, Lysithea. So strong that you held this inside you for five years without breaking. I don't want you to be so wracked with guilt that you cannot property enjoy the world you fought so hard to help create… You deserve this as much as everyone else, Lysithea. You've fought so hard, and you…you should be able to take happiness in knowing you helped us get this far.”

“I'm…I’m sorry,” Lysithea pulls out of Edelgard embrace, wiping at her eyes.

“I understand. But you must not let your grief take this deep a vice on you. I meant it when I said you should seek out others whenever you need this help instead of bottling it in,” Edelgard says.

Lysithea weakly nods her head, keeping her head low. “Don't…Don't push me away for this.”

“I won't,” Edelgard shakes her head. She reaches out to set her hand upon Lysithea’s cheek, guiding her to meet her gaze again. “There will always be a space for you here, after everything you've done for us— and for me.”

Lysithea can feel the tears wetting her eyes again, and she leans forward back into Edelgard’s arms, holding her tight.

Edelgard just gently sets her hand on the back of Lysithea’s head again, gradually coming to close her eyes.

It breaks her heart to see Lysithea this way.


End file.
